


Handle With Care

by themostmarvelousimagines



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Blood, Romantic Fluff, Sarcastic Bucky Barnes, Surprise Kissing, Touch-Starved, sarcasm of the highest caliber
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 05:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18844735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themostmarvelousimagines/pseuds/themostmarvelousimagines
Summary: The reader helps Bucky after he's injured on a mission, and they find out more about his personal life in a very "hands-on" manner.





	Handle With Care

**Author's Note:**

> Anon on tumblr asked for a touch starved Bucky, and so they shall have it! Kept the reader as gender neutral as I could. Also like always I'm the queen of typos so if you see one pls tell me lol

“Would it kill you to be a little more careful out there?”

“This was what happened when I was careful.”

You huffed and tightened your grip around Bucky’s waist, helping him up the stairs as he grunted and groaned and dripped blood all over. The mission he was on had gone south, and luckily he was able to get out mostly unscathed, but not completely. He was injured pretty badly- by your standards, at least. By his standards, he had the equivalent of a paper cut.

You often wondered how the hell he was still alive.

After finally reaching the compound’s kitchen, you leaned him against the counter to grab the first-aid kit on top of the fridge. It was closer than the infirmary, and you figured you could at least stop the bleeding before he passed out.

Bucky lowered himself into a chair, letting out a loud grunt as he went down. He was cradling his arm when you approached him, thick streams of blood running down his arm like rivers, pooling at his fingertips and dripping onto the floor. You pinpointed the source at the back of his shoulder, and asked him to remove his shirt so you could get a better look at the damage.

“Aren’t you gonna take me to dinner first?” He asked, laughter lacing his tone.

“I’m getting the feeling you want to bleed to death,” You said, glaring at him out of the corner of your eye.

“You know me so well.”

“Just take your shirt off, asshole.”

“Whatever you say,” He replied, carefully lifting his shirt over his head. You rolled your eyes and helped, tossing the bloodied shirt to the side. As you began cleaning up his arm, you finally saw where it was all coming from; a large cut trailing from his shoulder blade to the base of his neck. Now that it was free from the confines of Bucky’s shirt, the blood was basically gushing down his back and his forearm. You had to stop yourself from gagging.

“Jesus, it’s like you got in a fight with a pair of scissors,” You muttered to yourself.

“Did I win?”

“Bucky.”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“It is that bad,” You sighed, “You might need stitches. How the hell have you lived this long?”

“Nazi’s kept me in a fridge for 70 years.”

“Right.”

Your relationship with Bucky hadn’t always been jokes and sarcasm. In fact, he was actually pretty closed off when you began working together, but you understood. He didn’t seem like the social type, so you did your best to remain polite and patient with him. It didn’t take long for the two of you to start picking on each other and spending time together outside of work. By now, you were basically inseparable.

Of course, you didn’t mind in the slightest. Having Bucky as your best friend was one of the best things you could have ever asked for.

After a very long and tedious fifteen minutes, his wound was cleaned and dressed, and the bleeding had finally stopped. Thankfully, he hadn’t needed stitches after all. As you were placing the bandage over the cut, you took notice of the many scars on his back- all varying in size and shape. There were so many that you couldn’t count them on both hands. Curiosity overtook you and you reached out, gliding your fingertips over a few of the scars gently.

“You’ve sure got a lot of these, tough guy,” You mumbled.

Bucky scoffed. “You of all people should know how much I love to pick fights with scissors.”

“You’re a sarcastic ass, that’s what I know.”

“Quit sweet talkin’ me, you’re makin’ me blush.”

You sighed, closing up the medkit and striding back over to the fridge. As you rubbed at a sore spot on the back of your neck, you glanced at the clock on the oven, groaning when you realized just how late it was. Apparently, playing makeshift nurse had taken a lot longer than you thought. Yawning, you made your way to the sink and washed all of the drying blood off of your hands.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Bucky said, “Really.”

“I wasn’t just going to let you bleed to death, Buck.”

You dried off your hands with a stray hand towel on the counter, then stretched your arms above your head. Sleepiness was creeping up on you every second and it was becoming more and more of a problem.

“You gonna be okay?” You asked through a yawn.

“Yeah, I should be fine.”

You gave Bucky two thumbs up, then shuffled toward the exit. Your bed was practically calling your name, and you weren’t about to leave it waiting.

“Hey, actually, I think I might’ve hit my head earlier, can you check if there’s a bruise?” Bucky asked, standing from his chair and limping over to the nearby sofa. He made tiny, strained grunting noises as he slowly lowered himself into the cushions.

“Worried you might’ve damaged your pretty face?” You joked, flashing Bucky a mock-pout over your shoulder.

“This face hasn’t been ‘pretty’ since the 40’s,” He shot back, “Would you just check for me?”

“Alright, alright,” You said, reluctantly dragging yourself to the couch. “Where?”

“Somewhere on my forehead, I think. It might be under my hair.”

You gasped dramatically. “Not the hair!”

“Now who’s being the sarcastic ass?”

You laughed a little, sat beside him on the couch, then gently brushed his hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ears. “Tell me if this hurts.”

With feather-light touch, you searched his forehead for signs of a bruise, even checking his hair-line for traces of purple or blue. Bucky was calm as could be, not flinching or protesting at all, which was a good sign.

“I’m not seeing anything,” You said, “You’ll probably be fine.”

He didn’t respond. When you looked back at his face, his eyes were closed, almost like he was asleep.

“Still alive in there?” You asked quietly, letting your hand fall into your lap.

Bucky’s eyes drifted open, fatigue keeping them lidded. Ever so slowly, he grabbed your hand and pressed your palm into his cheek. His hand lingered over yours, almost as if he was afraid you would retreat if he let go. You watched, confused but not opposed, and tried not to focus too much on how soft and warm his skin was. When his eye fluttered closed again and he sighed through his nose, you made the brave decision to place your free hand on the other side of his face. He welcomed the gesture by leaning into your touch.

You watched his expression as you ran your thumbs over his cheekbones, smiling softly when the tense wrinkles on his forehead became more defined. His brows had drawn together and his mouth was turned down in a frown, almost like he was concentrating on something. The hand that had been guiding your own had slipped down to your wrist, his grip relaxed and loose. The further your fingers traveled, the more obvious his breathing became.

Carefully, you let one hand wander into his messy hair, coming to rest at the base of his hairline on his neck. He trembled abruptly, taking in a sharp breath and sitting up straight. His hand gripped your wrist a little more tightly and you halted all movement.

“Shit, did I touch your cut? I totally forgot it-”

“No, it’s not that,” Bucky cut you off, “It’s not that. Really.”

“Are you... okay?”

“I’m fine,” He said quickly, “Just... don’t stop. Please. It’s really nice.”

An electric shiver ran marathons up and down your spine. Did he really just say that?

With that, you resumed exploring his hair, then let one hand wander back to his face. You memorized the texture of his skin, his hair, and took note of just how long and unfairly beautiful his eyelashes were. Every time you explored somewhere new, his eyebrows would knit together and his jaw would flex.

His free hand had initially been at his side, but as you continued to caress his bare skin, it had wandered to your knee. Absentmindedly, Bucky covered the space just above your kneecap with his palm, fingers spread out and his thumb gently stroking the area. The action was small but effective, and left you breaking out in goosebumps.

In truth, you’d wanted this for a long time. It wasn’t something you’d ever admit, but it definitely kept you up at night. You swore that you wouldn’t develop feelings for anyone you worked with, no exceptions. It complicates things too much, and you wanted to avoid complications at all costs. Yet, there you were; hands roaming every curve of Bucky’s face, jaw, and neck, and savoring every second of it.

You cautiously slid your hand down the side of his neck, grazing his ear along the way. He reacted by humming softly. With a delicate touch, you brushed your fingertips along his collarbone, to his clavicle, coming to a stop on his sternum. You weren’t sure exactly what noise he made, but it was deep in his chest, and sounded like he was struggling not to moan. The implications made your stomach do somersaults.

Bucky led your hand slowly along his cheek, to the corner of his mouth, then halted at his lips. He gently kissed the pad of your thumb, sending your heart into hysterics. It was in that moment that you knew you were a goner. Every ounce of reluctance was abandoned. A warm sensation spread from your head to your toes as Bucky opened his eyes to meet your gaze.

You thought you were about to pass out.

“Why are you kissing my thumb?” You blurted.

“Your lips were a little far away,” Bucky replied with a small laugh. His mouth was curled up in that classic smirk of his and you started feeling dizzy.

“Oh,” You said simply.

“You’re bad at this, aren’t you?”

“Bad at what?”

It took you a moment to realize that as you were speaking, Bucky had been leaning in close- close enough to clearly make out his darkened pupils and blue irises. Your breath caught in your throat, and you were praying your nervousness wasn’t showing on your face.

“It’s okay, Y/N, I’m a little rusty, too.”

In one swift movement, Bucky’s lips met yours in a single, almost teasing kiss; like he was testing the waters. It was painfully short and left you wanting more, so you did what anyone would do; you cupped the sides of his face, drew him in, and kissed him so hard he’d be seeing stars.

As if pleased with himself, Bucky smiled into the kiss. He welcomed the gesture, wrapping his arms around your middle to pull you in closer. You couldn’t help letting a hand get lost in his hair, making itself at home. The slight shiver that shook his body gave you the confidence you needed to deepen the kiss. Soft smacking noises filled the room every time your lips parted.

The arms around your waist tightened, then lifted you with ease into Bucky’s lap. Without missing a beat, you followed his lead, resting your legs on either side of his body. The hand that wasn’t lost in his hair was trailing down his front, pausing over one of his exposed pecs to gauge his reaction.

He responded by breaking the kiss to hiss through his teeth.

“I guess your not as bad at this as I thought,” Bucky said. His voice was slightly shaky, like he was just as nervous as you were, despite his initial confidence.

“Hey,” You said, leaning back. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Bucky asked, breathless and raising an eyebrow.

“You just seem kind of... sensitive.”

“Sensitive how?”

To prove your point, you placed your palm over the middle of his rib cage just above his stomach, which was unexplored territory thus far. He instantly squeezed his eyes shut and let out a quiet yet sharp “ah”.

“See? Sensitive,” You said.

“Okay, yeah, I get it,” He breathed.

“What’s going on?” You asked, dropping your hands and relaxing further into Bucky’s lap.

He seemed embarrassed; looking everywhere but at you, running his hands through his hair, sighing, and cursing under his breath. You watched on, slowly growing more and more concerned the longer he sat and angrily cursed at himself quietly. All it took to bring him back to reality was your fingers lacing with his.

After one last sigh, Bucky met your eyes. “For the last 80 years, any time someone put their hands on me, it was either to hurt me, or kill me. Almost all physical contact I get is someone trying to strangle me or break my arm. Being touched in a way that isn’t hostile is just... foreign to me, I guess.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, why didn’t you stop me?”

“I didn’t want you to stop. I wanted all of it. My body just isn’t used to it.”

You shook your head and smiled at him sadly. “You can’t dive head first into things like that. It takes some getting used to.”

“So, you’re sayin’ you’ll help me get used to it?” Bucky asked, his smirk bleeding into his words.

“Slow down there, tough guy,” You chuckled, “don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Y/N, you’re sitting in my lap. If anyone’s getting ahead of their self, it’s you.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining about it.”

“Just shut up and kiss me again.”


End file.
